


Can't Help Who You Like

by lanyrainicorn



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Firsts, Fluff, Marichat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 02:24:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6311371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lanyrainicorn/pseuds/lanyrainicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Evenin’, princess. What is someone as lovely as yourself doing all alone on a Friday night?” Bright, glowing irises meet Marinette’s own bluebell colored eyes as she turns around into his gaze. At that, a mischievous grin spreads itself across her unexpected guest’s lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Help Who You Like

It’s a hot night in Paris – hotter than usual, even for summer – and the humidity clings to Marinette’s skin like a magnet as she stands on her balcony, fanning herself, eyes scouring the skyline of the city she calls home. She’s desperate for concrete inspiration for some designs that have been buzzing around her head the past week. Tonight, Friday night, is _her_ night, a night that she long ago declared to be dedicated solely to all things Marinette. Alya knows she enjoys her alone time at the start of the weekend, so she’s always happy to find other things to do and other friends to hang out with just for that night. Her parents know, too, how much Marinette values the breather from the stress of school and friends and work, and they use this as an excuse to have a little time to themselves as well, usually going out for a date night.

Marinette likes to sit and jot down the quick sketches that she’s mapped out in her mind each school day, or to put the finishing touches on a dress she’s been working on all month. Usually she’s like a whirlwind, a figurative tornado of productivity, tearing through her projects with ease, a plethora of creativity coursing through her veins come the weekend. But tonight is proving to be a bust; she’s stuck, plagued by a seamstress’s version of writer’s block. Sewing block? ‘ _Maybe I’ll just give it up for tonight and take a bath,’_ she thinks, rubbing her temples to try and stave off the dull throb that’s blossoming behind her eyes. ‘ _Guess that’s what I get for thinking too hard.’_

She’s already made it back to the hatch, ready to fling herself down, right onto the comfort of her cushiony bed when she senses an all too familiar presence lurking somewhere in the vicinity. She hears him before she can even look for him.

“Evenin’, princess. What is someone as lovely as yourself doing all alone on a Friday night?” Bright, glowing irises meet Marinette’s own bluebell colored eyes as she turns around into his gaze. At that, a mischievous grin spreads itself across her unexpected guest’s lips.

“Shoo, you stray,” she croons teasingly, waving him away with her hands. Instead, he leaps from his perch on the railing and lands right at her feet, back bent, catching one of her hands to plant a fleeting peck against her knuckles. This only earns him an exaggerated eye roll from the girl, and she firmly settles her fists against her hips in a failed attempt to look threatening. “Is there something I can help you with? What are you even doing out so late? You’re aware that it’s nearly ten o’clock, right?”

“So many questions,” he muses, straightening himself up tall and folding his hands together at his waist in faux professionalism. “I was just out on patrol nearby when I decided that I should check to see if a certain damsel was in distress.” His grin widens.

“I don’t need anyone to rescue me, especially not you, Chat Noir,” she quips, perhaps a bit too irritably, his name rolling off her tongue like a bite of bitter fruit.

"Meowch, princess. You really know how to shoot a guy down.” She peers up at Chat from behind her lids, droopy from the summer heat and her mild tiredness. The black clad superhero clutches his hand to his heart and takes a few steps back, feigning a wounded expression as Marinette faintly wonders how her eyeballs are still intact despite all the eye rolls he’s received from her over the past couple of years. “But seriously, I was just checking in on my favorite civilian. You know I like to pay you a visit from time to time.”

Marinette must admit that her heart swells a little at the sentiment, and a smirk tugs at the corners of her lips at his thoughtfulness. Chat can be overbearing and obnoxious at times, but she knows deep down that he’s a passionate, dedicated hero who cares a lot about the people he fights so hard to protect. Even if lately he has become a little _too_ attached to a certain blue eyed, pigtail wearing young lady. “I appreciate the thought, Chat,” she replies sincerely. “Honestly.”

 His bruised expression quickly drops, replaced by a broad smile that reminds her of the lights that gleam from the Eiffel Tower, looming like a great guardian in the distance. He turns around, busying himself with admiring the little plants that adorn the balcony, the spindly vines that twist and meander through the delicate metal swirls like pretty ribbons. Marinette can’t help but to think that Chat reminds her of the tower, in a way. They’re both steady and proud, standing tall, built strong with an iron constitution, but on the inside they harbor a complicated yet delicate makeup of architecture. Their composition makes them what they are: noble, firm representations of the city of Paris. There’s something about Chat that embodies strength and courage and wisdom, all things that Marinette finds reminiscent of the tower. Her voice interrupts his appraisal of her makeshift garden.

“Since you’re here,” she begins, slowly and unsure of how he’ll react to what she’s about to say, “you’re welcome to come in.” She gestures to the trap door behind her while fiddling nervously with one of her pigtails. His brows rise slightly, tinged with surprise and something else that Marinette can’t quite pinpoint, but he nods vaguely, hesitating before he follows her down into her room. He lands with a _thud_ on her bed, glancing around with a hint of reservation. At first, after climbing down the ladder, he only notices the size – probably a fourth of his gigantic bedroom – but it’s cozy and modest and perfect for the petite girl. His eyes wander, taking in the blatant pinkness surrounding him, which is the essence of Marinette, from the rosy paint on her walls to her bubblegum pink chaise, patterned with spots that make him think of his crime fighting partner, with a dozen more shades in between. It’s happy and bubbly and bright. It’s a stark contrast to the black and white austerity of his own home, and a warmth flickers to life within him, spreading through his chest. Finally his gaze settles on her computer, or more specifically, her desktop background – it’s a collage of him. Well, not Chat. Adrien. It’s an amalgam of different photos, all professional grade, taken from magazines and advertisements, and edited with hearts and swirls. His stare lingers on it, assessing it, before the screen goes black with a _click_.

Marinette chuckles nervously as she pulls her hand away from the power button, then goes back to twirling one of her ponytails like she did on the balcony. The dim glow of her lamp washes a yellow light over her pale skin, but doesn’t hide the distinct blush on her cheeks. “Sorry about that,” she babbles, clearly embarrassed by the computer’s display.

“Adrien Agreste, huh?” Chat hums in a sing-song voice, folding his arms over his chest as he stands up straight. He taps his foot while he watches Marinette bite her lip nervously and he tries his best to pretend it doesn’t affect him in some sort of way.

“I kind of, uh, have a little crush on him,” she admits, and Chat’s brows shoot up, eyes going wide, creating little wrinkles the fabric of his mask. Marinette doesn’t seem to notice, though. “I go to school with him; he’s in my class,” she goes on, “I’ve liked him for a while, but I don’t think it’s ever going anywhere. I’m too shy to tell him, and I’m sure he could have his pick of any of the other thousands of girls that probably make crappy collages of him.” A nervous laugh bubbles from her throat. “So I’m happy just being his friend. We’re good friends now, we have been for a while. I’m okay like that. I’m not even sure why I’m telling you this, but you looked curious.”

Chat’s loss for words is staggering, and he’s acutely aware of how many times he opens his mouth to speak, only to shut it again when nothing comes out. ‘ _What do I say to her?’_ he wonders to himself. He knows he can’t tell her he’s really Adrien, no matter how much he wants to, no matter how much he secretly likes Marinette himself, _as Adrien_. He also knows that even if he _did_ tell her his true identity, they couldn’t be together. Mr. Agreste had expressly stated plenty of times that Adrien’s modelling career and schoolwork – in that order – were far more important than any “schoolyard crush”, as he had put it. Despite Adrien’s attempts to remind him that he was seventeen, not five, and had years of experience juggling different activities, Gabriel’s stance remained unwavering. So Adrien couldn’t have a girlfriend. But _Chat_ , on the other hand…

“I know, I know, it’s so embarrassing. Sorry you had to see it,” Marinette echoes her sentiment from earlier, interrupting Chat’s train of thought and the plan he was piecing together in his mind.

“No!” he practically shouts, with far too much enthusiasm. It causes Marinette to start, but he places a clawed hand on her shoulder. “I mean, no, it’s fine. I don’t mind. Can’t help who you like.” He just shrugs his shoulders and offers Marinette a cool smile. “So, my princess, you invited me in, what now?” Frankly, she’s not sure. She can’t even remember why she asked him in now, too distracted by the weight of his warm hand through her thin nightshirt and the relaxed look he wears on his face. His eyes are luminous, especially in the low light of her room, and they seem to bore into her like a feral animal, poking more tiny holes in her already nervous disposition and his hand is feeling heavier and heavier on her shoulder as the seconds tick by in silence.

Suddenly it’s all too much and her gaze snaps from his, landing on the sketchbook lying on her desk. She moves and quickly snatches it up, hugging it to her chest. “Erm, how about we look at some of my designs? No, wait, that’s boring…”

“I’d love to, princess.” Chat plops down on her chaise, beaming brightly as he pats the spot next to him. She joins him and he scoots closer, hands folded in his lap and smile never faltering.

So they sit and Marinette gently flips through each page, taking tender care not to bend or fold the edges of the delicate paper. Chat relaxes at her side, content to listen to the talented seamstress talk on and on about her designs. She dives head first into each design, providing detailed explanations that are illustrated with fashion terms that Adrien’s known by heart for years but Chat pretends to absorb like a sponge. When they finish the first book, Marinette holds up a finger before she crosses the room and rifles through a stack on her desk, then returns with three more. Truth be told, Chat is far more absorbed in the way Marinette’s freckles disappear and hide in the tiny wrinkles that form when she crinkles her nose in excitement and how elegantly her fingers dance along the colored pictures as they point out _this accent_ and _that feature_. A lot more time is spent studying her face – her pretty pale skin, each and every freckle, the deep blue of her eyes – than is spent looking at her drawings. But Chat still manages to catch every word she says, dutifully nodding and paying intent attention to every syllable that leaves her lips.

Too soon they reach the end of the last book, Marinette closing it with all the tenderness she used throughout. She glances up at Chat, who looks completely enamored, and she feels an intense heat creep up her neck, settling as a dark blush on her cheeks.

She stands up quickly, unintentionally _slamming_ the book back down on her desk. “Well! It’s pretty late, isn’t it?” The clock on her wall reads 12:14 am. Had they really just spent over two hours looking at her sketchbooks? “You should probably get going. You probably need your rest for all that, um, super… hero-ing you’ll be doing tomorrow.” Her hand comes up to rub at the back of her neck and her face flushes again, this time with embarrassment. For a moment she vaguely thinks that it would be less idiotic if she just went ahead and slapped herself across the face.

Chat suppresses a giggle and hums in agreement as he stands. “You’re right, _ma chère_. I suppose I _should_ take my leave now. I actually have to be up early tomorrow, but I don’t regret a single moment spent with you. Care to walk me out… or, rather, up?” The corner of his lips quirk with the beginnings of a smile and Marinette has to once again fight the intense urge to send her eyeballs rolling.

She follows him up the ladder nonetheless, stepping up into the pretty Parisian summer. Then they’re facing one another and neither can help thinking that something seems surreal about the whole night. He grabs Marinette’s hand, bows, and presses a light kiss to her knuckles. He straightens his back, but doesn’t let go, instead taking a step closer and pulling her hand up to rest on his face.

“Chat…?” is what she tries to say, but the sweet meeting of their lips quiets her voice. After a moment he pulls back to ask ‘ _was that okay?’_ and ‘ _can I do it again?’_ and about a thousand more of the questions racing around in his head, but this time it’s his voice that’s halted as Marinette grabs his face in both her hands and _pulls_ him to her level, pressing her lips insistently against his. They’re perfectly in-sync, tilting their heads in opposite directions so they can deepen this kiss that neither of them expected but both are more than happy to continue. Marinette nips Chat’s lower lip between her teeth, and when he nearly yelps he can feel her smile against his mouth. He pulls her closer, one clawed hand coming to rest at the nape of her neck and the other placed cautiously on her waist.

They stand on the balcony under the shine of the moon, lips connecting again and again as they test the waters of something new; it’s something strange and compelling and different, but that something is good. It’s a new experience for them both and they take it all in, wrapped in each other, illuminated by the glimmer of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. They’re in sensory overload, but it’s a good kind; it’s almost as if time slows down, allowing them to savor the little details that they’re granting one another.

Marinette tastes Chat’s lip balm – who would’ve imagined that Chat Noir wears lip balm – and it tastes like peppermint. The sensation of it makes the girl’s lips tingle with a bite of chill, unexpected but appreciated in the hot summer weather. She shivers and the vibrations shoot through her body, giving life to a warm sensation that spreads throughout her chest.

Chat inhales and his nostrils are filled with the heady scent of dough – biscuits, cinnamon rolls, cookies and croissants. Like Marinette is composed completely of the sugary sweetness of her family’s confections – and she might as well be, because she’s irresistibly sweet, nestled against his chest like this. Her breath ghosts over his lips when they part and he shivers too and it reaches his ears and the tip of his nose, his toes and his fingers.

They allow enough space between them so they can look into each other’s eyes. Green on blue, blue on green, they stare, unsure of what to say but in desperate need to say _something_ so it’s not weird. But it _is_ weird. It’s weird and unfamiliar and out of the ordinary but it’s _good_ , _so good_ that they both start to laugh, a pleasant giggle travelling up both their throats and spilling into the one another’s mouth because they’re still close enough that their lips are nearly still touching.

Chat clears his throat and takes a short step back, crossing his arms coolly over his chest; Marinette does the same, but twines her fingers together behind her back, foot kicking lazily at the floor beneath her. Marinette decides to speak before things get awkward, and she silently prays she can maintain her composure later when she has to fight with Chat as Ladybug.

“You should probably get going, since you have to be up early and all.” Chat nods as he walks to the balcony’s edge, and Marinette notices he looks a little stunned.

He rests his hands on the railing, contemplating, before he turns and says, “I didn’t expect you to kiss me back, you know.”

Marinette looks thoughtful, and Chat’s a little worried she’s going to berate him, maybe make even use one of his own puns against him, but instead she just walks up to him and replies, “I didn’t expect you to kiss me at all.” Her lips widen into a smile and it nearly takes Chat’s breath away.

“Well, princess, it’s like I said earlier… you can’t help who you like.”

And with a laugh and his signature salute, he disappears into the night.

**Author's Note:**

> i have a [tumblr](http://lanyrainicorn.tumblr.com) if you'd like to follow me
> 
> i post anime, manga, and ml related things (some nsfw things too)


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